


Like Cats and Dogs

by HuggerMuggered



Series: iwatchedyoufall's Hybrid AU Stuff [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blood, F/M, RT Hybrid AU X, Vomit, WARNING: Graphic Body Mutations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuggerMuggered/pseuds/HuggerMuggered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a strange virus takes hold of the world, turning people into animal hybrids, Roosterteeth is affected like anyone else. Michael Jones has to deal with the changes as his Wife becomes ill, and his own change follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Cats and Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> [[Just a secondary warning. There's blood, and bile, and a couple really gross things where body parts fall off. Please don't read this if that will make you sick.]]

Michael pulls his backpack onto his shoulder and leaves Ray alone in the Achievement Hunter office, focusing instead on the dead-man’s walk he’s taking to the back of the building. There’s almost no one there, today- save some animators and Lindsay and Ryan, sharing their space as usual. Ryan looks tired, and he’s palming an Advil bottle like he’s wondering if it’s been long enough to take a few more.

Michael focuses on Lindsay, though- watching as she scrolls through a page of cat photos and sniffles. She’s curled up in the pink hoodie, close to shivering. He should have stayed home- the only reason she’d gone to work was to follow him around. There’s that endearing loyalty to her that makes him glad, all the time, that he married her-- But she should really be resting.

“Alright Mrs. Jones,” Michael says, leaning over the desk to tap on her keyboard. “Time to go home.”

Lindsay looks up at him and smiles, but she doesn’t say anything. She’d been talking the night before about how scratchy her throat felt-- how dry. He’d forced a bagel down her throat this morning to make sure she ate something, but he was pretty sure it was going to end up being soup for dinner.

Not that he minded- He made a mean Chicken Noodle.

Lindsay picked herself up out of her chair and grabbed her purse, large and unflattering and (He was pretty sure) normally filled with granola bars and red bulls. She tapped Ryan’s shoulder on her way out from behind the desk, and he nodded at the two as they converged- pushing the Advil bottle back onto his desk and attempting to ignore it.

“Hope your head feels better, Ryan.” Lindsay said, voice a little scratchy.

“Get some rest Lindsay- See you Michael.” Ryan responded, turning back to his computer.

Michael looped an arm around Lindsay’s waist and tugged her gently back toward the exit to the building. Ray is already absorbed in his editing, but Gus gives them a wave from his office. Michael doesn’t see anything off about the older man, but Adam Ellis is looking Grim in the corner of the room, glaring at the ceiling.

They leave the RoosterTeeth office and Lindsay pays no attention to the gray sky or the threat of rain- though Michael could do without it. The air has that awful thunderstorm quality about it, and he’s never liked heavy rain.

He makes sure to hold Lindsay’s car door open for her and then shut it gently behind her-- She doesn’t jokingly argue his chivalry when she feels like shit, and Michael finds that he misses the sarcasm.

* * *

Michael knows for sure that something’s very, very wrong when they arrive home and Lindsay goes to the couch instead of the bed, curling up sideways on the cushions and staring at the blank screened television.

“Linds, you need to sleep. C’mon, bedroom.” Michael suggests, leaning down to brace a hand on her elbow. He can feel the heat through her shirt, and sighs. “And aspirin-- and water.”

Lindsay closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Too tired. Sleep here now.” She says, curling up tighter.

Michael can’t exactly carry her all the way to the bedroom, so he settles for patting her on the shoulder and heading for the bathroom. He grabs the aspirin and then hits the bedroom, stripping a sheet off the bed and grabbing Lindsay’s pillow before heading back to the couch.

He has to nudge her head up to stuff the pillow under her, then throws the blanket as evenly over her as he can. A glass of tap water later and he’s waking her up just for a moment to get her to swallow the fever remedy; then he lets her sleep.

And then, only then, does Michael Jones allow himself to start worrying.

Michael grabs his laptop and stuffs himself into the corner of the couch by Lindsay’s feet, putting them to rest on his lap under their blanket. The news has not been very helpful about all of the people getting sick and changing-- There haven’t been any guides or doctors or vets or whatever they need- just the usual ‘don’t panic, everything will be fine’.

Like Hell. ‘ _Don't Panic_ ’ is a piece of shit and it does no good. He’s going to get the answers he needs as fast as possible.

Next to him on the couch, Lindsay groans in her sleep- Michael starts Googling.

He skirts around a WebM.D. article that’s probably all about how this virus is a cancer thing and clicks on the first news link he sees. It’s a bunch of political nonsense, so he backs out and tries again. It goes like that for a half hour- articles about Florida starting a registry (There’s at least five Alligator Hybrids, apparently. Good for fucking _them_.) and home remedies meant to stop the spread (There’s no stopping the spread, everyone’s been very clear about that) and there’s an awful website already dedicated toward blaming the whole thing on Gay Marriage- so it’s obviously a legitimate problem.

He stops into a Reddit thread out of complete and utter resignation, but he finds what he’s been looking for. Score one for the internet.

Someone from Georgia has posted an entire timeline of the change their brother went through, agonizingly detailed. Michael feels his stomach turn at the thought of antlers bursting from his own skull before bookmarking the page. He skims the rest, looking at the symptoms (fever and a ringing in the ears match up, but Lindsay hasn’t been complaining about her head) and forces himself to remember that what he said earlier is true: No one has died from the change.

No one they’ve _told_ them about, anyway.

He can remember the first cases two weeks ago, how the panic had started in Georgia and then continued on-- Those poor teens caught and shot by some maniac with a gun in Savannah. By the time people were wondering what could be so frightening the change was happening everywhere. The Southeast first, and then it spread- it just moved like a wave.

And like a ripple, it didn’t hit everyone all at once. Some were more susceptible than others.

He’s thrown off by Lindsay’s feet kicking- something she tends to do with fitful dreams, and he scoots himself so that his junk is out of the line of fire. Lindsay’s not done, though- Her eyes flutter open and then she whines, squeezing them back shut.

“Hey you.” Michael says, leaning over his wife to touch her forehead. There’s no change in the fever, despite the Aspirin. “Waking up so soon?”

Lindsay bites her lip, pushing her head farther into her pillow. To say she looks like she’s in pain is an understatement.

Michael pushes his laptop onto the coffee table and slides off the couch onto his knees next to Lindsay’s head, putting his hand to her bangs.She leans into the touch, and he rubs his thumb into her temple where he can feel tension building. She’s burning up and scrunching her face together like she’s trying to hold in a scream.

_Not antlers_ \- Michael thinks to himself as rubs at her temples. _Please, for her sake, not fucking Antlers._

He doesn’t have anything he can do for her except rub her head, holding back his own voice because every time he tries to speak she flinches. Her ears, he thinks, must be too sensitive right now. Like one giant Migraine on steroids.

Eventually, Lindsay latches her hand onto Michael’s arm and squeezes. He can feel her nails digging into his skin, but at least she’s moving.

He could deal without the blood pooling at the base of her ears, though.

“Shit.” He whispers, and he squeezes her arm and tugs gently free of her nails to stand and rush to the kitchen, grabbing the first dish towel he sees and running back. Lindsay has sat herself up and is looking, frightened, at her fingers- covered in red.

“No, no here-” Michael says, sitting himself down on the couch and leaning her toward him. He puts the towel to the base of one of her ears and feels her shudder. “Don’t think about it, don’t think-”

Lindsay’s nails are back on his arm, and he grits his teeth and lets her scratch. She looks like she wants to scream.

“If you need to cry, Linds, do it. Don’t hold it back.”

He watches as she opens her mouth and forces air through her throat, but all that comes out is a rough scratchy breath. Michael bites his lip, because losing her voice is one thing, but that sounds more like her throat is closing up.

Michael pushes the cloth down harder on his wife’s bloody ears, trying not panic.

* * *

About two hours in, after Lindsay found it in herself to hold the towel to her own head to stop the bleeding and Michael had started trawling into the darker portions of the reddit thread from earlier to find anything usefull, Lindsay’s legs start to shake.

She can’t help it, taking in short gasping breaths as her thigh muscles convulse and send her kicking the coffee table and the couch and Michael- who saves his laptop from an untimely end by setting it down on the floor. He catches her legs in his hands and holds tight, not missing the grateful look she gives him.

“Cramps?” He asks, and she nods- so he begins to massage at her muscles as hard as he can. Lindsay pushes her face into her pillow and sobs, hands covering the towels on her ears, and Michael can’t tell if he’s helping or hurting. Her hands travel down to her waist after a few minutes- clutching there the same way they do when she’s having a particularly painful time of the month. He winces when her foot slams into his side, but keeps pushing his thumbs into the backs of her knees and whispers useless placations until she stops shaking.

That takes up an hour- Michael rubbing and Lindsay shaking, until he notices the brush of red on the arm of the couch. He thinks Lindsay must have dropped her towel and hit the side of her head against the leather, spreading blood, but her hands have re-clamped to the sides of her head and the towel is in place.

Now it’s the top of her head bleeding.

“Hey, sit up.” Michael says, stopping his massaging of her legs to pull her toward him. Lindsay resists like a limp noodle, wobbly and falling all over herself. He’s careful as he looks at the top of her head and focuses in on the dark, liquid red that marrs her scarlet hair.

_Fuck._

Reddit had advice about this too, though. He’s gentle as he pushes at her shoulders and has her stand, running his arms around her waist to hold her steady as he leads her to the bathroom. Lindsay lets go of the bloody dish towel and it falls to the ground behind them; Michael doesn’t bother to pick it up, ignoring the strands of red hair that are plastered to the white fabric with blood and skin.

He sits her down on the toilet and starts the shower water running on a gentle warm trickle while Lindsay curls in on herself, shaking her head at something she’s thinking about. It takes a few minutes to coax her out of her clothes and sit her down- and Michael pretends to ignore the bloom of red that appears on the shower bottom when he finally gets her sitting down inside.

He starts to rub her back again, running his hands over her shoulders and trying to take out just a little bit of the tension. He focuses as little on the blood mixing with the water running down her head onto his arms as he can. Michael doesn’t remember when ‘don’t panic’ became a viable option.

It’s sort of his only mantra, now.

There’s a tense hour in the warmth of the shower- letting the mirrors fog up and Michael’s whispers turn into silence. Lindsay seems to calm down, some- looking less and less fragile as the skin of her ears peels away slowly under the constant trickle of water. If he weren’t so scared of the repercussions, Michael thinks he might like to make a Wicked Witch of the West joke.

He’s not stupid.

He keeps rubbing at her shoulders, but notices her hair falling into her eyes. Michael moves his hand forward to brush it away, being quiet-- but he’s greeted with a surprise.

Lindsay’s eyes shoot open and she clamps down her teeth on Michael’s hand as it reaches toward her. She lets go immediately, but Michael is already speaking.

“Jesus fuck, Lindsay-” He shouts, pulling his hand back and rubbing at the little dots of red forming on his skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-” Lindsay says, looking distraught. Her eyes are wider than they’ve been in the past two hours- like she’s finally woken up. She’s also backing away some, cringing.

“You fucking teeth are sharp.” Michael mutters, rubbing his thumb over the wound before looking back up at her. The sight waiting for him is something out of a horror movie.

His eyes widen, gut clenching, and he tries his hardest to sound soothing as he says- “Close your eyes, Lindsay.”

She closes her eyes immediately, whimpering. Michael really hopes she doesn’t understand what’s happening as he picks up one of the towels he’d piled next to him on the floor and drags it over Lindsay’s shoulder, collecting the debris of her right ear. She shivers, so he figures his wish isn’t exactly met.

He gently turns her around to look at the other ear, biting the inside of his cheek as he’s forced to gently pull away at the last piece of skin.

Without hesitation, Michael wraps the remains in the towel until it’s folded as wide and his hand and then pushes himself up onto his feet. He wobbles, and wonders why he feels like he’s on a carnival ride as he takes his first step forward.

“Michael?” Lindsay asks. There’s worry in her voice- like she thinks he’s leaving for good.

“I’ll be right back- I’m just going to... Get rid of this towel.” He says, grabbing the wall and then the doorway as he keeps walking. His equilibrium is off. He’s never been a queasy person, so he wonders why his brain draws the line at melting ears.

Or maybe it’s not the ears, he thinks as he stumbles into the hallway and has to lean on the wall to keep from falling over. The hall is spinning, and so is his stomach.

Michael doesn’t remember dropping the bloody towel or hitting the carpet- cheek to ground like it’s the most comfortable of pillows. There’s a disorienting memory of feeling himself retch, and then wet, naked legs coming at him from the side. He remembers wincing away from them-- but then there’s gentle hands under his arms helping him to stand and stumble back to the tile of the bathroom where the retching turns to vomiting as soon as his head is over the toilet.

Lindsay’s hands shake as they pull his glasses off of his face and then pull his hair back, ending up on either of his shoulders where she squeezes gently; and this time she’s the one whispering soothing nothings into Michael’s ears.

He doesn’t want to hear it, spitting into the toilet bowl and then cursing as hard as his lungs will let him. His ears are ringing from the rage of it, and he clenches his fingers on the toilet as his stomach rolls again and he’s left without the ability to scream. He was supposed to stay fine until Lindsay was done, but they can’t even have that.

“Michael, Michael-” Lindsay whispers, sitting on her knees next to him with her forehead tucked on his backbone. “Shh, shhhh.”

He ignores the tears in his eyes and focuses on Lindsay’s breathing, the soft clench of her hand on his shoulder every time she exhales. It helps him breathe, too, until there’s nothing left in his stomach to spit and he’s left dry-heaving.

“Come here, Michael.” Lindsay says, so quiet.

He turns toward her blearily, only half-complaining when she drags his shirt off over his head and pulls him toward the shower the same way he’d pushed her hours ago. The water is still on, so once his pants are off too he crawls under the stream and shivers at the temperature difference to his skin. Lindsay curls under the water next to him, settling herself down in the tub so that they’re squeezed tightly side to side with their arms pressed and clenched together.

“The walls are still spinning.” Michael says weakly, dropping his head onto Lindsay’s shoulder as the water mats down his hair and sends a stream of pink water running down her chest.

“Your ears are bleeding.” Lindsay says, voice still rough and quiet.

“I don’t care.” Is Michael’s only answer; he shuts his eyes tight and wraps his hand in Lindsay’s so that he can feel gravity again.

Lindsay stays quiet for a while, breathing slowly. It’s past midnight by now- the rest of the apartment building is silent. All they can hear is the constant trickle of water.

“Our water bill this month is going to be insane.” She says finally, budging the man on her shoulder towards the wall of the tub.

“What about this isn’t?” Michael asks, tucking himself closer to the curve of Lindsay’s hip and ignoring the loss of water as she shuts the shower down and lays down with him on the wet floor of the tub. Neither of them have the energy to crawl out and towel off and make it anywhere near a bed.

They fall asleep wrapped around each other in a centimeter of water, thankful for a break in the pain and the insanity.

* * *

Michael wakes up before Lindsay does, not surprising when he has a splitting pain on either side of his head. He’s confused about the black and red lumps sitting at the drain of the tub until he isn’t, and he focuses on getting rid of them immediately.

He tosses his ears unceremoniously into the toilet and flushes, all just as Lindsay opens her eyes.

“Don’t look-” He starts, talking about the blood on his hands.

“Oh my God your head-” Lindsay says instead, lips trembling. Michael assumes he must look sort of like her, now- though he doesn’t know if she’s seen herself in any of the bathroom mirrors. Last night they were all fogged up.

Lindsay’s head looks wrong, unbalanced. There are rough scabs on either side of her face, puffy and inflamed, and something sprouting from the top of her head-- though he can’t see the details. His vision is all fuzzy, and the walls are beginning to spin again.

He supposes he’s at least a day behind her, or maybe she’s just better at turning into a different creature than he is.

“Should you be bleeding that much?” Lindsay asks, picking herself up into a kneeling position in the tub.

“It’ll scab, just don’t pay attention to it.” Michael suggests, settling himself back onto the floor of the tub. He balances his head on his knees, forehead pressed to bone. Lindsay is climbing out of the tub, slow but sure-footed.

He knows she’s seen herself in the mirror when he hears a quiet gasp, but Michael’s attention is stuck on her back.

Lindsay notices, apparently.

“This isn’t really the time to be staring back there.” She says, like she doesn’t understand that he’s not really looking recreationally.

He blinks, trying to make sense of the fleshy thing on his wife’s behind.

“So that’s what tails look like without fur.” He says, blinking. He watches Lindsay spin, nearly slip, and then catch herself on the counter and thrust her butt into the air to look at her own backside. If she’s upset, she doesn’t show it.

After a few minutes of staring she slowly grabs for a towel and starts drying off. She makes little pained noises every few seconds, so Michael assumes that she’s sore. She’s certainly in better shape than he is. Michael leaves himself leaning against the wall of the bathtub with his arms hanging over the side, letting the cold porcelain sooth his head.

His wife leaves the bathroom for a few minutes. He can hear her in the bedroom, going through dresser drawers. There’s some muttering, some more sore gasps, until she finally comes back into the bathroom in a semblance of clothes.

It’s an old black tanktop and a pair of his boxer shorts, worn backwards so that what he assumes is her tail comes out through the front hole.

Lindsay looks into the mirror again upon returning, looking at the newest parts to her body with extreme prejudice. The pink, fleshy things are awkward and wrong, and she scratches at them. Michael assumes they must itch.

“There’s hair coming in.” Lindsay says, turning around to speak to Michael about her new ears. “It feels like really bad razor burn.”

Michael can’t help but laugh weakly at that, but the laughter brings up the awful tastes in his mouth. His throat and gums are sore, too.

“Hand me my toothbrush-” He says, half-reaching out with his hand. “My mouth is gross.”

Lindsay nods and turns back to the sink, though her eyes never leave her reflection as she grabs Michael’s toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste. She spreads some on to the bristles and then scoots down to pass it over, giving Michael’s shaky hand a squeeze before he pulls away from her.

He can immediately taste his gums bleeding through the icy mint of the toothpaste, but Michael presses on. Blood and mint are far better than day-old vomit.

Then something comes loose, and Michael pauses to spit a lump out of his mouth and look at it in the palm of his hand. It glints red and white and rounded in his hand.

He’s staring at a tooth.

“Motherfucker.” Michael whispers, clenching the tooth in his hand and immediately poking his tongue into the hole left in his smile. One of his canines has fallen out, leaving behind a hole with a hint of something sharp waiting to grow in. “Mother _fucker_.”

Lindsay sits herself down on the edge of the tub and runs a hand down Michael’s arm, trying to be of some comfort. She gets an odd look in her eyes, staring at the top of Michael’s head where he can feel his skin pulling.

“You look...” She says, searching for words.

“I look like a hobo with leprosy.” Michael finishes for her, tossing his tooth at the toilet and watching it bounce off the lid. He smiles at Lindsay, grimacing as another wave of nausea hits him hard. Vertigo- that’s what he thinks of. Something is wrong with how his eyes are seeing the world.

Lindsay is still staring, like what Michael has said isn’t enough. He has just enough energy to feel angry about it.

“ _What_ Lindsay?”

Lindsay bites her bottom lip.

“I- I think you’re a cat...” She whispers.

“ _ **MOTHERFUCKER**_.”

* * *

The rest of the early afternoon consists of Michael laying in the bathtub and muttering under his breath to keep Lindsay from scratching at her ears, or (as the fur begins to come in) her tail. She uses Michael’s laptop to keep them updated, urging away thoughts of staring into the mirror any longer and instead focusing on Twitter, where people they know have begun to take heed of their new appendages and take photos.

“Mike’s fine.” She says around four, scrolling down further and keeping her gaze averted as Michael dizzily knocks at his head with his hand to scratch dead hair off his scalp. “Can’t tell what he is, though.”

Michael scoffs and pours another cup of water over his head, wincing at the liquid rolling over sensitive new skin.

“I think that’s a pony’s tail.”

There’s a bit of laughter, the both of them quiet because of how noisy everything seems. Even the water heater turning on sends both of them wincing, crouching lower to the ground to get away from the noise. That’s why, around four fifteen, Lindsay regrets answering a phone call from Gavin.

“You’ll never believe what’s happened!” Gavin sqwuaks into the phone, and Lindsay immediately drops it and yelps, reaching up to cover her ears - She forgets for a moment that they’re not there anymore. Gavin’s not even on speaker and they can both hear him clear as day from the floor- Michael groaning and lowering himself into the tub.

“Gavin quiet the fuck down.” Lindsay says, dropping her hands from her head, unable to cover the prickly ears at the top of her skull. “You’re yelling.”

“Well I’m bloody freaking out, aren’t I?!” Gavin asks, though his tone lowers a decibel. “Gone for a week and no one calls-”

“Geoff was taking care of you.” Michael says from the tub, and Lindsay has to repeat it into the receiver of the phone.

“Not any more- He’s busy with Griffon. But we match.” Gavin says, sounding excited. Only he could be excited only a day after leaving behind excruciating pain and misery. “Wings! I’ve got flapping wings and a feather tail!”

“Geoff has wings?” Lindsay asks, because Gavin having them is only a little weird. He’s always been a bit flighty.

“Not him, you donut. He’s got goat horns or something- Griffon’s got wings!” He crows, and there’s a distinct sound of rusting feathers on the other side of the phone, like he’s stuck in a flock of pigeons. “What about you?” He asks.

Lindsay flicks her eyes over to the mirror, looking at the hairless ears on her head; then notes Michael glaring at her from over the edge of the bathtub.

“We’re not out of the woods yet, Gav.” She says, Michael can feel the distinctive soreness still radiating out from his tailbone and skull. “We’ll tell you when we figure it out.”

“Top.” Gavin says, sounding distracted. “Gonna go, got Barb calling-- I’ll see you soon!”

The last phrase is another shout- and Lindsay hits the end call button and throws the phone at a towel to shut it up. Michael’s ears ring, and he groans.

Lindsay is whining beside the tub, hands wrapped around the empty sides of her head- pushing down her hair. “I still hear in the same part of my brain.” She says, as though it makes any sense.

Michael feels nausea rolling at the ringing in his ears--and would much rather spare Lindsay another round of Vomit watch. “You’re starting to sound like Gavin. Go take a nap or something.”

She sees through his plan.

“Do you have to vom again?” Lindsay asks, eyes softening.

Michael sighs, and gives in.

“Help me out of the tub.”

* * *

There’s one more awful night of Michael stumbling around and cursing as the walls close in and spin around him, sending him face-first into the toilet more than once. Then there’s the awful realization that now his legs are buckling and kicking as his spine bends and his muscles convulse- and it’s the shower for him for four hours with Lindsay leaning over him and carefully massaging out the kinks.

Tails are fucking miserable, Michael decides- and with the length and curve of his he’s definitely a fucking cat.

_Fuck._

At least Lindsay wakes up the next morning much less miserable than he is,  tail thumping against the edge of the tub without her concern as she shakes Michael awake and forces him to swallow half of a pancake and a cup of water. It goes down rough, but he keeps it down- and that’s a good sign.

His wife has a wooden spoon in between her teeth, and he’s pretty sure she’s working grooves into the handle with just her teeth.

“Having fun?” He asks, leaning against the edge of the tub. Lindsay scoots over and kisses him on the cheek, and that’s nice- it’s like they’ve been too scared of hurting each other for affection the past few days.

Lindsay pulls the spoon out of her mouth and shows Michael the half-shifted teeth coming from the top of her jaw, gums red and soft. “Teething-” She says, popping the spoon back into her mouth and then mumbling around it. “Never let me make fun of babies again.”

Michael can feel his own canines coming in, but he has no urge to chew on utensils. He watches her tail for a little while, surprised at how easy it is to focus without getting dizzy now. She pauses it, looking behind her to stare at it too.

“I feel like a flyswatter.” She says, letting it pick back up the pace again.

Michael smirks, still staring. “Your face is a flyswatter.”

Lindsay scoffs. “Your jokes are horrible when you’re sick.”

“Shut up, Balto.” He says, looking up at the reddish hair on her ears. It looks soft and fluffy, and the tail matches. He’s seen huskies before, he knows how to judge them by their tails.

“Much better.” Lindsay says, grinning.

She convinces him to come out of the bathtub, drying off and copying her use of his boxer shorts to slip his tail through the hole in the front by wearing them backwards. It’s nowhere near comfortable, but he supposes it’s the best they can do for now. He does insist on shoving a beanie over his new ears, pulling it tight against the sides of his head as he takes up a corner of the couch and lets Lindsay channel surf.

Twitter keeps them busy when the television gives them hell, story after story about the virus going on and on and running into each other. They focus on the pictures they find instead- Gavin perched on top of Griffon’s workbench with his new wings spread behind him, looking awful. Geoff with his hand curled around a horn that’s just sprouting- curving around his ears slightly. [Michael reminds himself that ‘ _Ram_ ’sey jokes are probably off limits] There’s a collection of delirious tweets from Caiti, and an apology tweet from Jack with no explanation other than ‘taking her phone away until this is cycled through’, and quite a few messages from fans comparing notes about what’s going on in their part of the world.

It’s nice to get a call from Jack in the late morning, listening to his throaty rumble is soothing compared to Gavin’s squawks.

“Any advice for the... Uh... Ear problem?” He asks, sounding like he’s balancing the phone on his shoulder. Michael and Lindsay are happy to oblige with their experiences with the shower, and Jack sighs.

“Yeah, we’re already doing that. It’s a mess in there- there’s hair everywhere.” He confesses, which prompts the question ‘ _why_ ’, which prompts Jack to let out a sigh and a quiet “My beard is now way too big.”

There’s a pause, and then Jack simply says.

“I feel like I’m in the Lion King.”

Michael can’t help but snort as Lindsay demands a picture- but Jack refuses and focuses instead on something he hears in the background of his own call.

“If you really want to laugh, ask Ryan for one.” Jack says, his concern for his wife bleeding into his tone. “Everyone’s going to go nuts-- I got to go.”

That prompts Lindsay to text Ryan, who immediately sends back a text that’s more dry sarcasm and wit than either of them have the energy to deal with. They’re not in the mood to beg for it, so they settle back down. Michael’s tempted to borrow Lindsay’s spoon by noon, but he keeps that to himself. Teething is gross.

And, honestly- It gets better. Slowly but surely there’s less itching and pain and more quiet exhaustion, leaving Michael laying down with his head uncovered in Lindsay’s lap. She brushes through his curls with gentle fingers, moving around his ears which twitch away from her, bright orange hair just starting to grow in.

“You know,” She says eventually, and Michael can hear the smirk in her voice. “I did say you’d cave and get me a cat.”

Michael bites his cheek and tries to hold in a spitting hiss- not used to that as a reaction. Lindsay’s smugness is rolling over to her tail, letting it thump on the couch cushions.

“I am going to pee on all the things you love-” He says. “Just to prove to you how bad of a statement that was to make.”

Lindsay laughs, a quiet bark.

 **  
**“Oh, dreams _do_ come true.”


End file.
